


Of Heroes and their Poets

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Depression, Dissociation, Fluff, Fukurodani Academy, M/M, No smut cuz idk how, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, idk how to write this shit, probably
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:20:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27520645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Akaashi Keiji doesn’t think he deserves Bokuto Koutarou.Bokuto Koutarou just wants to get over his massive, fat ass crush on one Akaashi Keiji.There is, of course, more to their story(like doing dumb shit), but isn’t everything always about romance in the end?
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added, Random Haikyuu Characters
Comments: 8
Kudos: 50





	1. Chapter 1

Akaashi Keiji’s first day at Fukurodani Academy does not go as planned.  
The reason? One owl-haired, loud-mouthed Bokuto Koutarou.  
But he’ll get to that later. 

He blearily opens his eyes at the crack of dawn, used to doing so to avoid _her _. His mother, though Akaashi refers to her as The Hovering Household Demon.  
But that, too, is for later. __

____

He rolls out of bed, legs weak and back sore from the meager five hours of sleep he’d gotten after tossing and turning the night before in anticipation of this moment.  
All night he’d been barraged by thoughts of today. 

____

Will he be shunned? Will they too, inevitably, learn to avoid the impassive mask that is Akaashi Keiji? It’s unlikely, he knows; everyone new will be caught in a frenzy of themselves, that no dark-haired, perpetually bored first year will be worthy of their attention. 

____

And yet. 

____

Akaashi pads down the staircase with a banana in hand, backpack slung over his shoulder, immaculately pressed uniform in all its gray and blue glory. 

____

His mother won’t notice, will she, if he takes a slice of bread for lunch? No, she’s not that observant.  
Akaashi slides open the fridge door and cautiously plucks one out from the plastic packaging. Damn the crinkling noise. 

____

“Success,” he whispers as he tucks it into his handkerchief. “Mission completed.”

____

He won’t go hungry today, though his stick-thin frame speaks of past days of growling stomachs.

____

Contrary to typical belief and overall appearance, Akaashi is not, in fact, an emotionless porcelain doll.

____

Rather, he takes pleasure in imagining himself as a character- the protagonist, he hopes- of his own world. He can, at least, change things that way.  
_Maybe I read to cope with the crushing blackness of reality _, Akaashi thinks wryly. Not that far off- it’s rather sad.__

____

____

____

He’s gone before his mother wakes- he’ll be half an hour earlier than the start of school, but he can pass it off as newbie excitement to the more observant crowd. Well, maybe he can’t. Akaashi doesn’t do “excited”.

____

____

____

He’s seen the school before. But it still takes his breath away when the silvery building appears amidst the drizzle of April, cherry blossoms aflame with bursts of pink. 

____

____

____

Next comes the crossing of fates.

____

____

____

Akaashi Keiji is not easily impressed, no. Not at all, when his expressionless face reflects his personality. But Akaashi Keiji, like all humans (and all heroes) has a weakness. 

____

____

____

When Akaashi sees _him _, though, it’s like the muses have struck a chord within him and plucked the strings of his soul in resonating strums.__

______ _ _

____

_____ _

The guy is tall, even taller than Akaashi. He bounces on the his toes, wide golden eyes bright with barely-suppressed joy. It’s perfect, in a way only perfect things can be. Akaashi’s fingers itch to pick up a pen- to stain his emotions permanently on paper. Akaashi, somehow, doesn’t notice his hair until the guy turns away- it’s a mess of spiked-up gray, white and black. Muscled arms and legs, visible even beneath the rumpled uniform.

_____ _

____

_____ _

Akaashi looks away. But not before a whisper in the back of his mind says that he’d make a good hero. Also, less maturely, that he looks like an owl.

_____ _

____

_____ _

Owl Guys is a hero- heroes should be strong. Enduring; blithe and upbeat no matter the challenges.  
Akaashi- Akaashi is none of that.  
But he still _longs _. Longs to be away from all this, from his life.__

_______ _ _ _

____

_______ _ _ _

Ah, well. Students are accumulating before the gate- he’ll pity himself later, when he actually has time to. Unfortunately, his brain doesn’t take that into account.

_______ _ _ _

____

_______ _ _ _

He starts feeling a bit detached during his classes- he stands, dreamily; introduces himself automatically in monotone (Good morning everyone, my name is Akaashi Keiji, pleased to meet you all), and sits back down. 

_______ _ _ _

____

_______ _ _ _

It’s happening again. 

_______ _ _ _

____

_______ _ _ _

He doesn’t know where he is- just simply that his mind will not allow him to be in the moment. He doesn’t know how long it’ll last, this time. 

_______ _ _ _

____

_______ _ _ _

His mother hadn’t liked it, he remembers, when he’d simply gazed blankly at her- no, _through _her- when she’d screamed and struck things and shattered glasses.__

_________ _ _ _ _ _

____

_________ _ _ _ _ _

Akaashi had not been there, had not truly _been _there, nor was he here now. A wraith, a shadow, drifting along the hallways; an imposter among the living.__

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_He’s not real. He’s not real. He’s not real. ___

_____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

_____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

It continues. He can’t stand it.

_____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

_____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Will no one help him? Will he be left here, a husk of a body, eternal in his nothingness? Akaashi can’t bring himself to care.

_____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

_____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Akaashi’s lost track of time when he walks by a building that looks vaguely like a gym, his body carrying orders on its own while his mind floats like a helium balloon tethered by a flimsy string. 

_____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

_____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

It feels like someone’s slapped him awake when there’s a smack and a thud and a hearty cheer of “HEY, HEY, HEYYY!”

_____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

_____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Through the open doors Akaashi sees him again- the golden-eyed hero of Akaashi’s deepest dreams, dressed in a navy shirt and shorts. And kneepads. Oh, what those pads do. It’s not like Akaashi’s a romantic though. He _isn’t _. Okay, he is.__

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He realizes he’s just standing there staring when another boy with crafty eyes and strange dark-blond hair steps into the view, notices Akaashi, and smirks at Owl Guy. 

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

In a voice too loud to be accidental, Blond Guy (why is he classifying them by hair, Akaashi thinks distantly) calls, “Heyyyy, Bokuto! It’s that first year you were talking about!”

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Akaashi’s bewildered, the words sinking in a few seconds later. Why was Bokuto talking about him? Was he saying bad things? Spreading rumors? Already, on the first day? His face shows nothing, too well trained to allow the slightest twitch. Akaashi sometimes wonder’s if that’s good or bad. 

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Bokuto, meanwhile, is a different story. His face splits into the brightest possible beam on a human, and Akaashi swears that somewhere, solar energy is going on a meltdown from the sheer brilliance. Then Bokuto bounds down the steps and skids to a stop in front of Akaashi. “I bet you’re a tsundere!” 

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

This, thinks Akaashi, is not how I wanted today to go.

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He’s lying to himself- his heart melted a bit.

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

——————-

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Owls are great, _thinks Bokuto. _But pretty boys with poker faces are greater. _____

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

This thought process should be concerning, but Bokuto just blithely shakes it off and tries- tries!- to distract himself from the sparkling visage of obsidian hair, blue-green eyes, and porcelain skin. 

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Pretty Boy didn’t see him looking; he seems to be lost in his own world. 

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

That’s okay though, because Bokuto senses that if Pretty Boy were truly alert, he’d see right through him. 

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He can imagine Pretty Boy as an artist- a poet, probably, with eloquent words and a clever wit and a quiet presence. Yup, Bokuto’s in deep.

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He catches himself looking around eagerly for Pretty Boy through the day, with Konoha and Komi giving him strange looks.

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

It’s not that Bokuto’s a stalker. No, far from that.  
But Pretty Boy is just- Bokuto can’t explain it. He feels, quite strongly, that Pretty Boy will be important to him. 

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Perhaps he’s having a premonition. He rushes over to Konoha, gasping about “Oh my god can I see the future? Will I have children with Pretty First Year? WILL THEY LOOK LIKE HIM?” to which Konoha, unbeknownst to a wildly careening Bokuto, files away for later.

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Konoha then looks into the distance like he’s in The Office, but we don’t talk about that. That’ll be Akaashi’s job soon.

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> あらあら Bokuto-san.... you big idiot. Ft:  
> -more dumb shenanigans  
> -deep thinking that only Akaashi is capable of  
> -me trying to be funny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *me trying to figure out how to make words italic  
> *me knowing how to do it  
> *it not working
> 
> _it worked! _.__  
>  AGH IT ONLY WORKS SOMETIMES. YOU WILL HAVE TO READ IT WITHOUT THE FANCY ITALICS.

It might be a bit late that Bokuto realizes he _probably_ shouldn’t have said “tsundere” because Konoha, Komi, and even Washio are snickering with silent laughter. 

__Somehow, Pretty Boy looks completely unaffected._ _

__“I would hope so,” he says. His voice is quiet and rich, and Bokuto falls for him even more. “Otherwise my cold and unapproachable exterior would hide an even colder and more unapproachable interior, wouldn’t it?”_ _

__The three second years behind Bokuto burst out into cackles. Well, not Washio- if Washio laughs, the apocalypse has come. Or you’ve bought him yellowtail teriyaki._ _

__Bokuto frowns. He scuttles back over to Konoha and asks, in a stage whisper because that’s the quietest he can manage, “Should I not have called him a tsundere?”_ _

__Konoha, again, looks tiredly into the distance while everyone else stares at him in confusion._ _

___Ah, well, the plebeian masses don’t understand good humor.___

____“No, Bokuto, you shouldn’t have called him a tsundere,” Konoha says wisely. “Although he doesn’t seem like he minds, hm?”_ _ _ _

____Komi throws up his hands. “What is this conversation?”_ _ _ _

____Pretty Boy’s just been standing there, staring at them like their sins are on full display._ _ _ _

____(Bokuto knows that Konoha definitely has the most. And the worst.)_ _ _ _

____Pretty Boy opens his mouth. “Um. Were you playing volleyball?”_ _ _ _

____This, obviously, makes Bokuto’s head snap around in a way reminiscent of an owl. He quite literally hoots, “DO YOU PLAY?!” which might or might not shake the ground, and beams when Pretty Boy nods quietly._ _ _ _

____“Ah,“ he says. “I’m sorry, I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Akaashi Keiji from Mori Middle School.”_ _ _ _

____“‘KAAASHI ARE YOU A SETTER?”_ _ _ _

____“Bokuto, tone it down!”_ _ _ _

____Bokuto grins out a, “Sorry!” before Akaashi says, “Yes, I’m a setter,” which incites another round of Bokuto’s booming voice._ _ _ _

_____Akaashi Keiji,_ thinks Bokuto. It’s a pretty name, isn’t it? __ _ _

______They’re in the gym now, their sneakers squeaking on the rubber floor; the vast space echoing in their footsteps. Bokuto loves it._ _ _ _ _ _

______Over by the corner, a few third year students are chatting._ _ _ _ _ _

______Konoha’s telling Akaashi about joining the club and boring stuff like that.  
“The club hasn’t actually started yet, we’re just practicing,” explains Konoha.  
Akaashi’s nodding like he’s interested. _ _ _ _ _ _

______“The second years are... very enthusiastic,” adds a third year whose name Bokuto should know, but doesn’t._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Yeah!” Bokuto says (or shouts, he doesn’t know). “We love volleyball!”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“And seeing people in kneepads," whispers Konoha. “Kinky, yes?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Bokuto is affronted when they laugh. He ducks behind Akaashi, who’s the only one not finding amusement at his expense._ _ _ _ _ _

______Alas, Bokuto underestimates the power of Akaashi’s poker face. It would be no small feat to slip a smile from there._ _ _ _ _ _

______It’ll happen, though. With Bokuto, it always does._ _ _ _ _ _

______——————-_ _ _ _ _ _

______These people are funny, thinks Akaashi distantly as another uproar rocks the group about something or the other. Why would they laugh so much if they weren’t?_ _ _ _ _ _

______Bokuto’s behind him, but he peeks out and asks Akaashi, “Do you like owls?” a bit too eagerly._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Ah. Yes? They’re the school mascot, aren’t they, Bokuto-san?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Since Bokuto’s voice is so loud, everyone else is, naturally, alerted about the topic of conversation._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Oh, no!” guffaws Konoha. “Bokuto is the true school mascot!”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Well, he does look like an owl,” agrees Akaashi, and Bokuto might as well have ascended into heaven._ _ _ _ _ _

______“REALLY?” he gasps, eyes sparkling. Akaashi pretends not to notice the jump in his heart. “IS IT THE HAIR?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Yes, Bokuto-san. It’s the hair.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______It’s fascinating that Bokuto’s spirits can be lifted so easily. Akaashi wonders what it’d take for someone to make Akaashi himself laugh as easily as Bokuto does._ _ _ _ _ _

______Probably a few miracles and an extra plate of nanohana._ _ _ _ _ _

______The rest of the practice hours pass quicker than he realizes, listening in on the witty flow of the conversations of the other players, as well as the extremely dumb but hilarious contributions Bokuto makes.  
They seem to have forgotten to practice. _ _ _ _ _ _

______“Oh, shit!” Konoha jumps up. “Gotta get home now!” A boy Akaashi learned was Sarukui follows him, Komi trailing behind with several third years. They call swift goodbyes, and Bokuto and Akaashi are left by the doorway._ _ _ _ _ _

______“So, ‘Kashi!” Bokuto exclaims, completely disregarding proper pronunciation as the two of them pick up their bags. Akaashi has never met anyone like him. “Tell me about yourself!”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Oh,” says Akaashi, feeling like a fish out of water. “I’m- not very interesting, Bokuto-san.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Bullshit!” beams Bokuto, somehow making the curse word sound like he’s talking about puppies (or owls). “Everyone is unique! What do you like to do?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______It’s like Bokuto is the human personification of motivation. It should be unbearably cheesy, but it isn’t. Akaashi thinks it fits him._ _ _ _ _ _

______“I suppose... I play the violin. And- I like volleyball, obviously.” He’s awkward- he’s not used to this._ _ _ _ _ _

______Bokuto doesn’t seem to notice. “What else?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Hm. I like to read sometimes. And draw, I guess.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Wow!” Bokuto’s gold eyes reflect the sunset as they head outside._ _ _ _ _ _

______Akaashi thinks they’re going to the bus station, but he’s not sure._ _ _ _ _ _

______“I hate reading because I can’t sit still, but you look like you’re super smart!”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Oh... thank you.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“I’m really bad at drawing too! Can I see your drawings sometime?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Akaashi’s drawings are like the deepest part of himself; his soul stripped raw and inked on paper.  
He would rather die than let his mother see. So why- why?- does he feel like he could, potentially, show them this person he just met? _ _ _ _ _ _

______“Maybe,” is his answer._ _ _ _ _ _

______Bokuto beams again, then inquires, “Are you good at math? I’m trying to improve my grades but it’s SO HARD. You look like you’re good at it!”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“I’m a year younger than you, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi points out. “And, uh- I’m actually not good at math. I prefer literature.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______He waits for Bokuto to laugh at him; tease him, maybe, about how setters should be calm, collected and therefore good with numbers. That’s what his mother would say, at any rate._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Oh, that’s okay!” comes the reply as Bokuto begins spinning around, infused with pure energy. “I think literature is waaaaaaay harder than math cuz’ you have to make up your own things!”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Akaashi stands to the side, a bit baffled by the fact that his admitted incompetence at math was not remarked upon._ _ _ _ _ _

______He remembers the insistence in his mother’s voice as she gesticulated wildly in one of her drunken rages._ _ _ _ _ _

_______“You’ll never get anywhere with your.... interests.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______“Do you really want to be a starving artist? Did I raise you to be this way?!”_ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______“We’re only living in this house because I took computer science, remember that!”_ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______“I’m really just trying to help you, Keiji! No mother wants her child to be poor.” ____ _ _ _ _ _

________Akaashi’d believed her, had _known _how well STEM jobs paid compared to art ones, but he knows, too, that he could never be happy doing what she did.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________He doubts himself. Heroes would never doubt themselves. Heroes are everything Bokuto embodies._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________No, that’s wrong. Akaashi’s not dumb; heroes doubt themselves too; they feel hopeless and lost and _gray, gray, gray_ until something happens that brings them the light again. ___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________But he still knows- he’s not a hero._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________He’ll tell fantastic stories, of the great power they wielded and their kind deeds and their fears and their hopes. But he is not one of them._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Maybe he can accept that._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________He thinks he can, as he looks at the strange, endearing figure of Bokuto Koutarou skipping ahead._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________And today- it really wasn’t a bad day, was it?_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More extremely deep thoughts from Akaashi and dumb shit from Bokuto.  
> It’s literally their dynamic

It’s really quite strange how quickly the days begin to pass when Bokuto is involved- because Akaashi’s having fun. 

Real, actual _fun_. 

Imagine that. 

But it’s true and real, and Bokuto is solid and _there_. He doesn’t get bored of Akaashi with his short, sardonic answers and quiet disposition. 

That’s the greatest mystery: Why should Bokuto- someone wild and carefree and interesting, to say the least, want to hang out with Akaashi, Ice Queen Supreme? 

Akaashi doesn’t know. He tries not to think about it; not when Bokuto laughs, not when the sound makes his whole being fill up with sunshine.  
Not when Bokuto drags him to the table where all the second years are for lunch.  
Not when Akaashi feels like- like people actually _like_ him. 

Not even the dark, empty rooms he returns to can sap him of the small, glowing ember inside him that is Bokuto’s friendship. 

With it, he paints more than he ever could before- inspiration in the form of one shining golden boy, inking graceful lines into the page.

Oh, he messes up sometimes. It’s not like Akaashi’s some art genius. Everything he’s made- from the first tentative pencil scratch to the elegant, detailed portraits- is pure hard work. 

But maybe that’s what makes them even better- the small smudges, the slightly scratchy lineart, the flecks of blue in the bronze. Imperfections, after all, are human.

It’s around one in the morning when he looks up and realizes the time- and, belatedly, the math homework sitting on the bottom of his bag. 

Akaashi sighs, feeling a rush of exhaustion. He doesn’t regret a single thing, though- to him art is more important than any numbers could express.  
Perhaps that’s why his mother is so disappointed in him. It’s a defect in an otherwise well-oiled machine. 

He doesn’t finish the homework that night. His mother opens the door with a barrage of clinking and thunking- she’s probably drunk.

Akaashi slips into bed and closes the light. He’s asleep almost immediately, limbs flopping down after being held in delicate positions for hours on end. 

Painting does that to him; it’s reflected on every part of his body. Hands, stained forever with a plethora of colors. Eyes, always half-lidded in their tired glare down at his work. Arms and legs and back, sore from whatever crouch or stretch he fixed himself in to suit the brush strokes. 

Akaashi doesn’t mind, though. How could he, when it was the one thing he could be proud of- the one physical thing that was his and his alone? 

He thinks in the morning, when his alarm blares its horrible tune, that all his sappy musings last night were for naught- he does regret this. Very much so, when his limbs are all screaming and his eyes are drooping and _no, he did not do his homework._

Fantastic. 

Akaashi wonders what he’d do if he were a hero in this situation. He can’t think of anything, because heroes don’t have homework. It’s unfair.

It’s only been a week since school started, and Akaashi’s already tired of the world. He drags himself- quite literally drags- to the entrance, whereupon he is tackled by one Bokuto Koutarou. This is not the first time it’s happened. 

“KAAAASHI!” yelps Bokuto as he attempts to wrangle Akaashi’s neck. 

“Bokuto-san,” gasps Akaashi, feeling his windpipe being cut off, “Please- let go.”

Bokuto does so with fervor. “KAAASHI I’m sorry! Did that hurt? Are you okay? You’re so skinny I could wrap my arms around you twice!”

“No,” Akaashi pants. “I’m fine. I was just tired.” 

The taller boy tilts his head. “You’re like a noodle, ‘Kaashi,” he declares. “So it’s good that volleyball practice is actually starting today! Gotta get exercise!”

Right. Akaashi moves his sore arms and sighs. 

“Compared to you, Bokuto-san, I can’t really measure up in muscle mass, can I?” 

Needless to say, Bokuto explodes with pride, and the poor janitor needs to clean it up.

——————-  
Today is almost perfect- Bokuto’s ecstatic, even more so than normal. 

His mind sings with _volleyball, volleyball, volleyball_. It’s his passion and the only thing he’s actually good at and he would be flying in circles if not for the trickle of worry he feels. 

Akaashi. Bokuto’s trying to deny his big, fat crush on the boy.

It’s like his personal goal has been to touch Akaashi as much as possible- so when he jumped on him earlier, Bokuto had felt an unpleasant twinge at the fragility of Akaashi’s body. 

Sure, Akaashi’s beautiful. Bokuto knows that all too well. But his beauty is- _off_. It’s a bit eerie, in the way that dusty light shining through broken windows is; splayed petals pressed and dried on old parchment. 

He sometimes- Akaashi sometimes looks dead. 

Bokuto pushes the melancholy away. No, Akaashi is alive; alive and breathing, and Bokuto is just descending into one of his infamous emo modes. 

He doesn’t think about it again until after school practice arrives, and Bokuto’s skipping joyously into the gym. 

“Where are the other first years?” he looks around in confusion upon seeing only Akaashi’s face. 

“Oh,” says Akaashi, a bit bashfully. “No other first years have signed up so far.”

Bokuto simultaneously beams and pouts. He himself doesn’t know how he manages it. “Well, that means that ‘Kaashi is the best first year there is! But we won’t have many new people, will we?”

Akaashi’s face doesn’t change, though Bokuto notices with delight it pinks a bit. Makes him look more alive. 

“No, I guess we won’t,” he replies. 

Then- it happens. 

Bokuto’s been looking at Akaashi’s face the whole time. But when his vision shifts down- oh, shit. 

Akaashi is _hot_. 

Bokuto’s not exaggerating. Pale legs, lean and long and contrasting starkly against his black kneepads. Bokuto can’t bring himself to describe Akaashi’s thighs besides “heavenly”. Heavenly through and through.

His eyes roam to the spot between and he jerks them away hurriedly, berating himself.

Belatedly, he sees the splatters of paint on Akaashi’s arms and legs. Why. _Why_ does he find this hot. 

_I’m done for,_ Bokuto thinks. _I have a paint kink. Is that even a thing?_

And of course, at that moment, Konoha sidles up from silently watching the exchange. He leans into Bokuto’s ear and whispers, “Don’t pop a boner.”

Bokuto jumps back, face burning red. “N-no, what are you talking about? I-“ 

Komi is somehow right behind him. Patting Bokuto’s shoulder, Komi shakes his head with the air of a sage man. “Ah-ah-ah, Kou-chan! Listen to your elder speak!”

“But I’m ten days older than him!” 

“Doesn’t matter,” Konoha says, “I guessed your ki-“ He’s shaking his finger and Bokuto feels the urge to bite it. He follows this urge. 

“Ah-“ 

The second years collapse in a shouting, wiggling pile while Akaashi stares at them uncomprehendingly. 

Thank god Akaashi seems to tired to figure out what Konoha was talking about, or else Bokuto would literally melt into the ground and become one with the earth’s core.

“This-“ yelps Konoha as he tries to roll out from under Bokuto, “could literally be a scene from the Office.”

“What?” they all respond in confusion. 

Uneducated brats. Maybe he should teach them how to do CPR while singing, “I Will Survive”.

Practice has begun by the time the three idiots get up again, and the warm-up stretches awaken something in Bokuto. It’s only been a month or so since he’s played, but he feels invigorated every time. 

Then come the exercises- tosses, bumps, spikes and Bokuto is beaming with pure glee. 

He has two more years of high school left, but he isn’t worried. This- _this!_ -is what he wants to do for as long as he can. 

When Akaashi finally gets a chance to toss to him, he leaps and strikes. 

The slap of the ball against the floor is thunderous and Bokuto thrives in it. 

Akaashi, too, shows his skill. Calculated, precise tosses that aren’t perfect; not at all, but Bokuto knows that he’ll improve quickly. Akaashi’s a well-rounded player, and Bokuto feels a strange sense of pride that, _yes, this is my kouhai_. 

They’ve just begun, but Bokuto already senses that together, they’ll be something great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it physically pains me to write about Bokuto admiring Akaashi’s... legs... as someone who is not attracted to these types. eeeugh  
> BUT! I figured out italics!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> somehow Bokuto does even MORE dumb shit, Akaashi angsts, blah blah let me go sangwoo on his mom.

Bokuto’s never been this eager to get to school everyday. He thinks it has something- everything- to do with Akaashi.

Crushes are like that. 

Of course, he still groans over the amount of homework he gets; he still clenches his fists when the test comes back with a bright red 58 scrawled on top- but the little skip of his heart when he sees the familiar wavy black hair is worth all of it. 

He and Akaashi plow through practice everyday with a fervor their coach has openly admired. They leave the gym side by side with the sun glowing lazy red in their eyes. 

And, like this, the month passes- then the next, and it’s summer. That means (Bokuto howls in delight; Akaashi shushes him, but he too seems more alert) training camp. 

To this, the Fukurodani team erupts into cheers. Training camp, for the second and third years, was an exhilarating experience that left many cocky with the various consecutive wins against Nekoma, Shinzen and Ubugawa. 

The coach, sighing fondly, warns them not to become arrogant. 

The second years plus Akaashi crowd together, and Konoha launches into an apparently hilarious retelling of something stupid he did the other day. 

Bokuto doesn’t pay attention; his is captured by one Akaashi Keiji. 

As usual, only Akaashi is left with a bored expression while everyone else chortles; Bokuto wonders if he ever feels left out, and decides to help.

This comes in the form of slinging an arm around Akaashi’s neck (Bokuto is alarmed to see that his upper arm is nearly as thick as said neck) and tugging him closer with a chirp of, “‘Kaashi, I’m gonna make you laugh!” 

The rest of the second years look on with interest as Bokuto begins his assault. It’s eerily similar to watching a reality show, as Konoha has observed. 

“Um- Bokuto-san-“ begins Akaashi. 

“Nuh-uh-uh!” announces Bokuto. “Let the master speak.” 

He rubs his palms together grandly. “What,” Bokuto says. “is brown and sticky?”

He pauses for effect. 

“A stick!” 

“ _Oh, dear._ ” says Konoha. 

Komi clutches his heart. Washio shakes his head in devastation. Sarukui wipes away a tear, and the two managers- second years Yukie and Suzumeda- collapse in the background.

“That was sad,” Akaashi puts bluntly. If possible, his mouth has pulled down a tiny bit more. 

“Awwwwwwww,” moans Bokuto. He perks up again a second later, wiggling his eyebrows. “What about a _dirty_ joke?” 

“Pfft,” snorts Sarukui. “You’re literally the most innocent person ever, Bokuto.” 

Bokuto stomps his foot. “I am NOT. I’m older than most of you!” 

“With age doesn’t come wisdom,” Komi says sagely, stroking his would-be beard. 

“Okay, okay!” shouts Bokuto. “Listen up, children!”

Snorts.

“What is six inches long and two inches wide,” Bokuto starts, “and makes everyone go crazy?” 

Konoha groans. “Not a di-“

“A ten-thousand yen note!” 

Everyone’s eyebrows rise into the stratosphere.

“We should’ve known,” Washio sighs. Everyone nods. 

“Even I could come up with something better,” Suzumeda laughs. 

Bokuto’s about ready to deflate completely when- oh. _Oh._

The most profound, genius idea ever bestowed upon humankind reveals itself to him; the team watches in abject horror as Bokuto apparently has an epiphany- eyes wide and glittering, mouth in a perfect ‘o’. 

There has, in the history of the Fukurodani Gakuen Volleyball Team, been only one other instance where the epiphany has occurred to Bokuto Koutarou.

It did not end well. At all. 

So when Bokuto is frozen in his revelation, everyone assumes something terrible will happen, again, and scramble to protect themselves. 

But all Bokuto does is grab a confused Akaashi (Akaashi’s looked confused a lot lately) and begin tickling him. 

And the world might as well have been doused with gasoline, set on fire and then processed through a slaughterhouse because Akaashi Keiji is now _laughing_. 

Not just laughing- it’s too small and too short a word. Choking with unhindered gasps of mirth; whole body shaking and squirming as he tries to escape Bokuto’s clutches; giggling, tears escaping from his eyes and looking, for all the world, like his body has been waiting to finally express its joy. 

Bokuto is delighted. Everyone else is smiling or staring in shock, because _oh my god is that really Akaashi?_

Akaashi keeps laughing, for long, blissful seconds after Bokuto stops. 

Bokuto’s never heard such an amazing sound- it’s not that Akaashi’s laugh sounds like so-called “music”. It’s not a particularly pretty laugh; it seems like he’s not used to the action. 

But it’s because it’s Akaashi; solemn, monotone Akaashi, that it’s so beautiful. That he’s capable of showing such emotion, that it confirms that Akaashi is a geode- relatively unremarkable exterior (though Bokuto begs to differ) and a rainbow of crystalline gems inside. 

Akaashi wipes away the teardrops collected at the corners of his eyes; Bokuto follows the movement of his slender, paint-stained fingers.

“Thank you, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says, breathlessly. “I needed that.”

He exits with an air of purpose, leaving Bokuto and the rest of the team frozen in his wake. 

“Bokuto,” states Konoha gravely, looking for all the world like he’s about to be shipped off to the Bermuda Triangle, “you just broke Akaashi.”

——————

The adrenaline rush from- well, whatever Bokuto did to him- has dissipated long before Akaashi makes his way back to the house. 

He’s never laughed so much in his life. 

Akaashi had taken the time on the subway ride to ponder the meaning of life, and the meaning of one owl-headed boy; he’d randomly erupted into silent giggles while swaying with the movement of the train, the only thing keeping him upright the handle from the ceiling. The other passengers had leaned away from him- they’d probably thought he was high. 

He might as well have been, with how he’d felt.

Akaashi thinks that maybe, just _maybe_ , life is turning out okay as he witnesses the sun disappear beneath the horizon in a flash of brilliant crimson, slashes of honey clouds dappling the sky. 

He climbs the stairs to the apartment, the dark hall untouched by the glow of colors outside. 

He hears a noise. 

Heart pounding, a cold sweat breaking over him, Akaashi swings the door open and rushes to his room. 

There, he finds his mother. She’s ripping-tearing- _clawing_ paper to shreds. 

Not just paper. 

At his feet, one of the first identifiable things he’s ever drawn- an awkward little owl clumsily rendered by three-year-old hands in brown Crayola marker. It’s in pieces. 

Farther in, at the foot of his dresser, a sketchbook is torn up; the more developed lines of an anime boy he’d had an embarrassing crush on, furious dark lines of hands he just couldn’t get right, a small sketch of Bokuto Koutarou he’d self-indulgently drawn just a few days ago. 

The paintings he’d painstakingly poured hours and hours into all have been stabbed clean through.

It makes an awful sort of sense, considering how Akaashi feels just then.

His mother looks up- her eyes, her hair; all identical to his. She’s clearly sober, and it makes it a thousand times worse. 

“Keiji.” she hisses. “Is this what you’ve been spending your allowance on?”

He doesn’t answer- there’s really no need to, and he doesn’t think he could anyway. 

She stands and sighs, dusting her hands off as if they’ve been dirtied by his art. “I’m trying to help, you know.”

He doesn’t rebel when he finally can speak. He, after all, is not a hero. “I’m sorry.”

“As long as you understand that,” she smiles at him, and it looks so, so wrong on her features. “Make sure your grades don’t slip, Keiji.” 

Akaashi can’t help but think of Bokuto, whose mere presence will light up a room. Who would most definitely stand up for himself. For Akaashi, too. 

“Yes, mother.” he says numbly instead. “I know I shouldn’t have wasted money on this.”

She nods, pats him on the back. “Oh, and Keiji. My company’s taking interns. I’ve signed you up.” 

“Okay.” 

He’s left alone in a room of broken memories. 

Akaashi doesn’t cry, though. He can, at the very least, maintain some shred of dignity. 

And when Bokuto asks him to draw something when they’re studying at lunch, Akaashi shakes his head softly and tells Bokuto that art isn’t the right path for him.

Bokuto pouts, Akaashi looks away. 

It’s fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I laugh wickedly.  
> I then realize I have to figure out the rest of the story.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drama! Domestic stuff! I can’t write children or fluff because I am a cold-hearted knife-wielding artist with too little exercise!

He wonders, bitterly, why his life can’t be like the yin and yang; balancing each other out in perfect harmony. But _noooo_ , fate had said, “Screw you, Akaashi!”

If he wants his mother to love him, he needs to give up his one talent that he could imagine pursuing for the rest of his life. If he wants to be an artist (would that really be so bad? Yes, it would, he reminds himself), he has to disappoint his mother. 

Not to mention the overwhelming fact that- somehow, he’s just truly realizing- he’s gay. Gay as fuck. And it’s so. _Fucking_. Frustrating. 

It started when Akaashi heard the vulgar, daring whispers of horny adolescent boys- 

_Do you know Yuki-san from Class 3-A? I’d give anything to touch..._

__

__

_Nah, her tits are too small- have you seen..._

He’d pushed down the sick feeling in his stomach- he knew not all boys objectified girls like that. But Akaashi had not once thought of girls in that way. 

So twelve-year-old Akaashi had sat himself down in front of his computer and began his sexual awakening; at the time he’d simply wanted to know if there was anything wrong with himself.

“Why don’t I think of girls in that way?” had yielded thousands of results, of which young Akaashi had read, sat in contemplation about, and finally decided to ignore- too complex an inner analyzation for him. 

It hadn’t resurfaced- until, of course, Bokuto Koutarou. He has a way of messing with Akaashi’s life; disorienting him until he can’t tell what he wants anymore. 

But Bokuto Koutarou is far, far too good for Akaashi Keiji. Bokuto is a star; made to stand in the light and shine brighter than everyone else. And Akaashi? He knows his place. 

Still, Akaashi can’t make his feelings disappear. As unemotional as Akaashi may seem, when he feels something- which isn’t often- he feels it _hard_. 

Needless to say, his feelings- or, the rephrase that- his big, fat crush on Bokuto Koutarou, is not going away any time soon.  
Then, there’s the issue of his mother- he doesn’t _think_ she’s homophobic; it’s not like they’re religious, nor has she ever brought up the subject. 

Akaashi thinks he’ll wait to tell her. If he ever summons enough courage to do so. 

He scoffs at himself; he’s alone in his bedroom and thinking about things requiring too much bravery for someone like him to do. 

Akaashi’s revelation makes school- and not grabbing Bokuto and kissing him on the spot- far harder. Because of course Bokuto loves to touch him and of course Akaashi can’t do a single damned thing about the tingle that spreads through his body each time.

Bokuto’s grinning brightly at him when they exit the changing rooms (where Akaashi’d had to physically force his eyes away from the smooth ripples of Bokuto’s muscles), his smile not a bit dimmed by the grueling practice they’d had earlier. Akaashi himself feels like hell warmed over.

He’s chattering about training camp, which is coming up in a few days- Akaashi thinks distantly that he’ll need to ask his mother for the 6,000 yen fee. It won’t be hard; she thankfully approves of his participation in volleyball.

“Oh, and ‘Kaashi!” Bokuto’s voice jolts Akaashi out of his daze. “You’ll meet my best bro- his name’s Kuroo and he’s from Nekoma!” 

Akaashi blinks. The prospect of seeing this ‘best bro’ is making Bokuto’s brightness level increase from LED to nearly that of the sun. “Ah, I look forward to meeting your best bro.”

Bokuto snickers. “‘Best bro’ sounds so weird coming from you, ‘Kaash! Can you say ‘I love unicorns’?” 

In response, Akaashi looks evenly at Bokuto and intones, in a voice very much like that of a funeral employee, “Though it is unseemly of me to say so, I have always held a burning passion in my heart for mythical equine narwhals.”

“I have no clue what you just said,” Bokuto replies in a tone of reverent awe. 

They’re striding along the cement sidewalk by now, passing a quieter neighborhood and nearing the road where they’ll part, when Akaashi suddenly feels quite dizzy. 

No, not suddenly- he’s had a nagging feeling in his stomach all day and the excessive running today didn’t help; not to mention he forgot his lunch. 

“Bokuto-san, I-“ he stumbles, and grabs Bokuto’s shoulder for balance. His sense of balance is thrown completely off; up is down and left is right as the world seems to have turned upside down. 

Akaashi’s vision is swarmed by static, and _oh, fantastic_ , he really wants to throw up even though there’s no food in his body. The road is above him and the ground is empty and blue below him- _he can’t focus-_

“Akaashi?” Bokuto’s panicked voice cuts through the haziness and two strong arms grasp his shoulders, keeping him up. 

Akaashi’s wheezing. He’s trying to breathe, he really is; his throat is dry and he feels sicker than he’s ever felt before. 

“‘Kaashi! ‘Kaashi, focus on me!” Bokuto is forceful now. He helps Akaashi to the ground and tells him, “Breath, slowly! Like I am, see?” 

It takes forever and it’s one of the hardest things he’s ever done because all the while he’s thinking _what if I can’t calm down I’m running out of air this is so embarrassing Bokuto’s watching me_ , but when Akaashi finally catches his breath he allows himself to slump down onto Bokuto’s lap. 

They stay that way for a little, with Bokuto stroking his hair- as Akaashi realizes belatedly- and Akaashi taking deep lungfuls of breaths. 

Then Bokuto whispers (he can whisper?) a small, “Are you okay now, ‘Kaashi?” 

“Yes,” replies Akaashi, equally small. “Yes, thank you.” He sits up, already feeling the loss of warmth. He doesn’t dare meet Bokuto’s eyes.

“‘Kaashi,” Bokuto begins. “You don’t have to tell me what that was. But I would feel better if you did, and I think I could help.” 

Akaashi’s a bit stunned by Bokuto- playful, wild, carefree Bokuto- and his responsible approach to this. But he’s right. 

“I- yes,” Akaashi says, hesitant. “I think- I don’t think I ate enough. And today’s practice was tiring.”

“Oh,” an exhale of what sounds like a strange mix of relief and worry. “Well, I’m glad it wasn’t something worse, but I’ve also noticed you don’t eat enough sometimes. That’s not good, ‘Kaashi!” 

“I know, Bokuto-san. Thank you for expressing your concern.” Akaashi stands a bit shakily, but he knows he’ll be fine. There’s takeout in the fridge, he remembers; his mother was in a good mood yesterday. 

Bokuto’s face is the picture of indignance. “I’m not just gonna let you _leave_ , Akaashi! You just collapsed, and you’re still really fucking pale!”

“I’m always ‘really fucking pale’, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi replies wryly. 

“Nuh-uh!” Bokuto grabs Akaashi by the elbow and begins dragging him down the other path. “You’re coming with me so I can feed you, and you’re texting your parents so that they know!” 

“Wait-“ starts Akaashi, knowing it’ll be futile. Bokuto always gets his way, and it’s not like Akaashi is capable of resisting. “I don’t want to trouble your family.” 

The boy dragging him barks a laugh. “Trust me, ‘Kaashi, it’s no trouble. My mom accidentally made double what she had to yesterday.” 

Akaashi doesn’t know much about Bokuto’s family; he thinks that it’s probably a big one, and he’s right. They reach a bright yellow gate next to a sign with the Bokuto family name, and he can already hear the loud chatter of children up ahead. 

The house itself is cozy and average in size; the climbing vines don’t give it a rundown appearance but instead enhance the overall aesthetic. Akaashi appreciates it. 

“Kou!” beams a short, round woman when the door swings open; two twin boys, around six, ducked behind her apron. She has brown hair and Bokuto’s golden eyes. “And a guest! What’s your name, son?” 

Akaashi’s startled by her direct nature and sheer loudness. He decides he likes it. “I- I’m Akaashi Keiji, Bokuto-san. I’m sorry to impose.“

“Nonsense!” comes the joyous answer. “Come in, come in, friend of Kou-chan’s!”

“Ma,” blushes Bokuto. He looks like he belongs here, with his bright eyes and bright face and bright aura. Akaashi wishes he could, too. 

They follow Bokuto’s jolly mother down the hall, where another child- a girl of about ten- peeks out from a room then scuttles back in. Bokuto’s two younger brothers (Haruto and Saiki, according to Bokuto’s introduction) race each other to the kitchen, which emits a heavenly smell. 

Minutes later, they’re all gathered around a wooden table, kneeling on the ground and salivating at the bowls of rice piled with curried potatoes and chicken.  
It’s not exactly healthy, Akaashi thinks as he digs in, eating more than he’s ever before. But then again- he doesn’t give a fuck.

“When’ll momma be home?” questions one of the twins- Haruto, with the missing tooth. 

Akaashi blinks, confused. 

“Ah,” Bokuto’s mother smiles again. “She’ll be here soon. She’ll be happy to meet you at last, Akaashi-kun,”

Bokuto nudges Akaashi’s elbow, apparently seeing his puzzlement. “I have two moms,” he explains, seemingly a bit worried at Akaashi’s reaction. Bokuto’s mom (ma, Akaashi decides to call her) is likewise eyeing him. 

“I look forward to meeting her as well,” Akaashi replies with a small upturn of his lips. “Koutarou-san is lucky to have such nice parents.” 

Bokuto relaxes visibly, though his ears tint pink at Akaashi’s usage of his first name. But what else was Akaashi supposed to call him, in a family full of Bokutos?

Ma beams- the only expression she seems capable of making, and echoed by Bokuto. “I’m glad that you’re accepting,” she says, straight to the point as usual. “Many people aren’t as kind as you are, Akaashi-kun!” 

Akaashi blushes, feeling like maybe-he belongs. 

——————

Bokuto looks. He clears his mind and he looks- _looks_ at Akaashi in his home. 

Akaashi’s cheeks are rosy, eyes bright and his beauty is really- startling. His lips twitch again; more often than they ever have, as Bokuto’s sister, Izumi, says something extremely dumb with the innocent bewilderment of childhood. 

He really looks like he belongs. 

When everyone’s finally done with dinner and they’re putting the dishes into the sink, the front door clicks open. 

“Momma!” cry all three younger children, rushing over each other to reach the door first. 

Indeed, Bokuto’s mother is being swarmed by her kids as she hefts her heavy bags in both hands. Her hair is long and dark, and eyes large and brown. Izumi is an exact copy. 

Bokuto feels a warm bubble of happiness rising in his chest; everything has slid together like a puzzle. 

“Hello, hello!” beams Bokuto’s ma, bustling out with Akaashi trailing shyly after her. “Welcome home, dear!”

“I missed you all,” says his other mom. “And- who’s this?” she asks, catching sight of Akaashi. 

“Oh-“ Bokuto straightens. “This is Akaashi, mom! From school and volleyball practice! He wasn’t feeling too well so I invited him for dinner.” 

“Very nice to meet you, ma’am,” Akaashi bows nervously. 

His mom’s face splits into a gentle grin. “Ah, no need for formalities. It’s good to meet another of Kou-chan’s friends!” 

Once the family (he likes to imagine Akaashi as part of it; it’s his guilty pleasure) is mostly back in the dining area, Akaashi pulls out his phone and glances at the screen.

“I’m sorry, I’ve got to go home now,” he says softly. “Thank you so much for the food.” 

“It was a pleasure, Akaashi-kun!” Bokuto’s ma pats him on the back. “Come back again whenever you like!” 

Bokuto stands with Akaashi and walks him to the door.  
“It was nice having you here, ‘Kaashi!” Bokuto declares. He says in a slightly quieter voice, “Are you feeling better now?” 

“Yes, a lot better actually.” Akaashi replies. His skin has regained some color, too. “Really- thank you, Bokuto-san.” 

Bokuto opens the door, the summer heat and chirping crickets bombarding him with nostalgia. “Well,” he says. “See you tomorrow, ‘Kaashi! Take care of yourself. Oh!” He darts back to the kitchen and grabs a package of those Chocopies and Pocky sticks Haruto always begs their mother to buy. 

“Here!” 

“Oh- thank you,” stammers Akaashi, taking them. 

“Eat them for breakfast, or whenever you want!” Bokuto waves a finger sternly. “Alright, thanks for coming, Akaashi!”

He realizes how many times they’ve said thank you to each other already; they’re bobbing their heads in the doorway like awkward chickens.

“Yes,” says Akaashi. He bows, and Bokuto nudges him upright. “Right- thank you, see you tomorrow.” 

The door closes, and Bokuto’s left with a crush that’s doubled in volume, density and mass.  
He sighs.

Life was so much simpler before Akaashi Keiji, but you won’t find Bokuto complaining.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YALL I swear I know Bokuto canonly has two older sisters but I HAD TO GIVE HIM A BUNCH OF BABY SIBLINGS AND TWO MOMS I HAD TO.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anyway Kuroo and Kenma appear- Yay! Kenma and Akaashi’s friendship is all I want- more dumb, food related stuff cuz I’m channeling myself. I am a dumb, food obsessed weirdo. Thus, this.

Bokuto doesn’t think twice when he packs a tupperware full of the offspring of his mother’s late night stress baking and hops onto the bus to training camp. 

On the bus, he beckons Akaashi over eagerly, patting the seat next to him. 

“Oh- if that’s alright with you, Bokuto-san.” 

Bokuto laughs. “Always so polite, ‘Kaashi!” 

When the bus begins moving, the light bumps on the road and the faded Jpop playing on the radio and the warmth of an enclosed space lulling him to sleep, Bokuto finds himself too tired to stop his head from dropping onto Akaashi’s shoulder. 

_Oh, _thinks Bokuto drowsily. _This is nice.___

____

He’s asleep soon after. 

____

Loud giggling wakes him- he jolts up and knocks his head with Konoha’s, inciting a chorus of ‘ow’s. 

____

Akaashi’s blinking awake, too, and Bokuto notices lines in ballpoint pen on his cheek; “Bokuto wuz here heart” and a small heart. It doesn’t take a genius to conclude that his own face is in a similar state. 

____

“ _Guys_ ,” Bokuto complains. 

____

Konoha’s still rubbing his forehead, pen in hand. “Your skull is so thick, Bokuto. No wonder.”

____

“What’s that supposed to mean?!” 

____

“Oi!” bellows their coach. “We’re at Nekoma now, so settle down!” 

____

“Yes, coach.” they chorus in monotone. 

____

“We sound like a crowd of Akaashis,” Bokuto remarks.

____

“Shut up,” Akaashi says.

____

Upon exiting the bus, Bokuto is violently bowled over by none other than Kuroo Tetsurou- his partner in crime, fellow spiky-haired menace, and brother from another mother. 

____

“Oh dear,” say Akaashi at the same time as another, smaller boy with long black hair framing his face who followed Kuroo out. They look at each other and a sort of understanding passes between them- maybe the exasperated responsibility of taking care of two loud dumbasses. 

____

“Bro!” Bokuto bounces up. 

____

“Bro!” returns Kuroo. 

____

“Bro!”

____

“Bro!”

____

This continues as a small crowd gathers, watching the weird second years with bemusement (and amusement. Shouldn’t bemusement be the opposite of amusement? It’s not, though). 

____

“All right, all right!” An old, round, squinty-eyed man (Coach Nekomata, Bokuto just forgot his name) pushes past the crowd and grabs Kuroo by the scruff. 

____

“Broooo,” moans Bokuto sadly. 

____

There are sighs all around as everyone dissipates after the greetings, heading for the rooms to drop off their baggage. They won’t actually start practice, but they want to take every chance they get.

____

Two other schools are present already, Shinzen and Ubugawa, though Bokuto doesn’t actually know their names; he just thinks of them as Scary Combos and Scary Serves, in that order. 

____

The Fukurodani team, after shoving the bags in the corner of the emptied-out classroom, rush down the hallways to make it to the gyms before their peers. Akaashi, however, walks steadily behind them and Bokuto somehow forgets about him in their mad scrambling down the staircase. It’s a wonder the thing hasn’t broken yet. 

____

When he finally thinks of looking back, they’re already crossing the lawn to the gym- an unremarkable gray building on the outside. Akaashi’s nowhere to be seen, and nor is Kenma, who Bokuto knows is Kuroo’s childhood friend. 

____

“Ehhh?” Bokuto asks Kuroo, gesturing into oblivion. 

____

Kuroo, naturally, understands what he means. He shrugs. “I dunno, bro. Kenma probably got sidetracked somewhere. He does that.” 

____

Bokuto doesn’t want to worry, and he knows he shouldn’t, but he really really wants to be with Akaashi at the moment. 

____

Just then, Kuroo seems to have an epiphany. “Bro- your cheek! Akaashi’s that one new guy, right?” He snickers. “Ohoho, getting bold, is he?” 

____

“HUH?” Bokuto touches his cheek. “No- Konoha wrote it- what does it say?” 

____

“Property of Akaashi,” Kuroo proclaims proudly. 

____

Bokuto’s going to fucking kill Konoha. 

____

——————

____

Akaashi doesn’t know how he got lost; he just did. Took the wrong hallway, tried to retrace his steps and then just ended up wandering around Nekoma. 

____

He’d tried listening for the loud stomps of the Fukurodani team, but no luck. It was because he’d been listening so hard that he now stumbled upon the sounds of pressing buttons and video game music. 

____

It’s the black-haired boy from earlier, his knees pulled to his chest as he taps furiously on his Switch, eyes focused in a way Akaashi’d never guess he’d look. 

____

“Uh-“ Akaashi begins.

____

The boy glances up swiftly, revealing piercing golden eyes- like a cat’s. 

____

“I got lost,” Akaashi says. “Do you know where- actually, never mind.” He sits down next to the boy, who doesn’t seem surprised. “I guess I’ll join you.” 

____

Bluntness. A trait his mother has taught him to hone, in a country where everyone is so modest and polite. 

____

“It’ll get you places, Keiji.” she’d said. “I don’t sugarcoat things, and you shouldn’t, either.” 

____

So Akaashi follows her rules, like he does now. The boy is definitely quiet, even more so than Akaashi; he takes the initiative (he also feels that the boy appreciates directness if one were to speak to him). “Akaashi Keiji, first year. What game are you playing?” 

____

A flick of the eyes, then back down. “Kozume Kenma. First year. Animal Crossing.” 

____

“Why are you tapping the buttons so fast, then, Kozume-san?” Akaashi asks, amused. 

____

“Kenma, please,” he says quietly. “Also, Animal crossing is the one game that can really rile me up.” 

____

It surprises Akaashi so much that he snorts out a huff of laughter. “H-how so, Kenma?” 

____

“For one,” Kenma says, seemingly becoming more comfortable, “I’ve never found them that cute. And everything loads a bit slow.” 

____

“Ah,” says Akaashi, smiling now. 

____

They end up switching to Mario Kart, which invigorates Akaashi up much more than he’d like to admit; whisper-yelling at Kenma when it turns out that, though Akaashi is very good at video games, Kenma is god-tier. 

____

Kenma, too, seems to get more excited when he has someone to play with- time passes like water through their fingers as the two first years, all flushed cheeks and eager fingers, converse animatedly while trying not to die on Rainbow Road. 

____

“And- he says, ‘I bet you’re a tsundere!’” Akaashi giggles (he feels very giddy at the moment, drunk on adrenaline). 

____

Kenma makes a ‘pfft!’ sound, trying to suppress a grin. “I met Kuroo when I was like eight, and he was _so_ shy. You wouldn’t believe it.” 

____

“Kuroo-san? Shy?” Akaashi tries to imagine it, but his mind physically repels the idea. 

____

“Yes, he was _sooo_ shy. Even shyer than me!” Kenma recounts with a wistful smile. “And then once he got used to me, I realized how nerdy- like science nerdy- he was.”

____

“ _Nerdy_?” Akaashi ends up seeing a vision of Kuroo as Bill Nye the Science Guy, which brings back traumatizing memories. 

____

“Kuroo has the entire periodic table memorized,” drones Kenma. “He has an unnerving knowledge of quantum numbers, brain cells and wombats.” 

____

Akaashi bursts out laughing. “ _Wombats_ ,” he gasps, wiping away his tears. The motion draws Kenma’s eyes, and he looks at Akaashi directly for the first time. 

____

_He’s pretty_ , reflects Kenma neutrally. Kenma sees the pen on Akaashi’s cheek, and realizes it says, “Bokuto wuz here”. 

____

He asks him about it, and Akaashi’s hand covers it reflexively. His cheeks are burning, Akaashi knows.

____

“Oh,” he says. “Konoha wrote it when we were sleeping.” 

____

Kenma raises a brow. “Do you like him?” 

____

Which reduces Akaashi to sputters; it’s more than enough answer for Kenma. 

____

“Let’s not talk about this!” Akaashi insists. He thinks wildly of something to say. “Do _you_ like Kuroo?” 

____

To Akaashi’s great surprise, Kenma also goes cherry red. 

____

“No- he- I,” Kenma blushes eloquently. 

____

It’s how Bokuto and Kuroo, on a search for their respective setters after a series of practices, find Akaashi and Kenma- faces pink and giggling to each other in embarrassment. 

____

Akaashi swings his head around, feeling mortified- Kenma clearly does as well, and they stop their laughing abruptly. 

____

Kuroo and Bokuto both look stunned. 

____

“Bro-“

____

“I think-“

____

“They broke each other-“ 

____

Bokuto snaps out of his daze first. “‘Kaashi!” he rushes over. “Where were you? Are you broken?” 

____

“What- no!” Akaashi says, standing. “I bumped into Kenma and we both got distracted.”

____

Kuroo eyes him. “You’re Akaashi, right? Kuroo Tetsurou.” 

____

They shake hands, then Kuroo helps Kenma up. “Kenma, did Akaashi break you?” 

____

Kenma gives him a glare. “No, Kuroo. We were playing Mario Kart.” 

____

“And blushing that much?” Kuroo asks incredulously. 

____

Akaashi and Kenma give him twin looks of sheer _doneness_ and walk away, Akaashi dragging Bokuto behind him. 

____

“Wait- wait!” calls Kuroo. “You can’t _gang up_ on me!” He runs after them, and forgets the blushing- for now. Even if he feels a lingering jealousy of someone who could make Kenma blush like- like _that_. 

____

—————— 

____

It’s after dinner (which is delicious; onigiri and nanohana, Akaashi’s favorite foods) when the Fukurodani team is split between showers and the sleeping area. 

____

Komi and Sarukui are chatting in the corner, Bokuto’s in the shower and Akaashi and Kenma are sitting against the wall with Kenma’s games. 

____

They’ve just started when Bokuto, Kuroo and Yukie strut in, arguing about something or the other. 

____

“But- owls can turn their heads all around!” Bokuto shouts, Yukie nodding her head. 

____

“Wombats,” announces Kuroo, “have slow metabolisms, backwards-facing pouches, and _tough butts_.”

____

“Kuroo-“ Kenma sighs. 

____

“Their shit,” Kuroo continues, undeterred, “is _cube-shaped_.”

____

Akaashi turns gravely to Kenma. “You were right. He _is_ a nerd.” 

____

“Hey!” 

____

Then Bokuto gasps in delight. “Guys, my mom- wait, lemme get it!” He runs to his bag, pulling out a clear plastic box full of manju- red bean buns. 

____

There are gasps of delight all around. 

____

“She made like five billion of these,” Bokuto explains. “She stress-bakes.” 

____

He passes them around, and they all bite into one, letting out elated moans. 

____

“ _So good_ ,” Konoha exclaims. 

____

“So, _so_ good.” Kuroo agrees. “Brokuto- I’m glad your mom exists.”

____

Quiet chewing ensues, occasional groans of pleasure breaking the silence. Even Kenma and Akaashi release a few; the sweet paste and fluffy bun is- heavenly. _Orgasmic_ , nearly. 

____

The door bangs open, revealing two people from Nekoma; the funny-looking first year, Fukunaga, and a short second year, Yaku. 

____

“Are you guys-“ Yaku begins, then his eyes focus on the buns. He groans. “ _You guys_ \- you guys sounded like-“ 

____

“Like you were having sexual intercourse.” Fukunaga says pleasantly. 

____

Ah. Well. Now that Akaashi thinks of it, they did, didn’t they? 

Such are the perils of eating good food.

____

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *eats smth with red bean  
> *ascends to heaven
> 
> Also Kuroo as Wombat-obsessed Bill Nye, yes?


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fluff and also angst and idk what I’m doing anymore honestly  
> very sorry for my horrible writing lately lmao I’m so confused at this point

Training camp progresses, and Akaashi definitely does _not_ steal quick glances at Bokuto.  
No, definitely not at all. 

Everyone’s far more relaxed- no teachers present, and the coaches, even if they deny it, are young at heart. 

It’s a few days before the end of camp, and they’re practicing late into the evening; the gym is cooling as the sky gradually descends into a velvety blue.

Bokuto takes off his shirt _far_ more than is necessary- Akaashi grits his teeth and rips his eyes away from the tanned muscle. His traitor of a brain is fangirling wildly. Across from him, Kuroo grins and wiggles his eyebrows suggestively- his jealousy has since dissipated after realizing how deep Akaashi is clearly in for Bokuto. 

Akaashi retaliates by smiling, sickly sweet, and says, with enough venom to kill an elephant, “Kuroo-san, are you still crushing on your setter? Or will you _finally_ grow enough balls to _ask him_?” 

Kuroo burns bright red and turns away, chastened, but not without a mutter of, “ _My balls are fine_ ,” 

Meanwhile, Bokuto is staring with awe at Akaashi. 

“What?” Akaashi asks.

“You just _smiled_ , ‘Kaashi!” comes the reverent answer. 

“You’ve seen me do it before.” 

Bokuto holds up a finger. “But! It was _so badass_ that time!” 

Akaashi chokes. “Badass?” 

Kenma looms up quietly behind Akaashi. “Should we have words about speaking freely about Kuroo and I?” (he’s blushing though, there’s no denying it).

“No-that’s not necessary,” Akaashi ducks his head. “But when are you going to realize that _you both like each other_?” 

“I could say the exact same to you,” Kenma hisses, blushing even harder. 

“Oi!” Kuroo claps them both on the shoulder, then jumps back defensively when twin glares are turned upon his weak form. “O-oi! Setters, stop ganging up on me!” 

“ _What, Kuroo_.” Kenma mutters. 

“We should go to dinner, remember?” 

Kenma and Akaashi glance around to see that, indeed, everyone has left and it’s gotten dark. 

“Where’s Bokuto-san?” Akaashi asks. 

Kuroo smirks, then quickly covers it before he’s castrated. 

“He couldn’t wait any longer- it’s yakuniku today,” 

Akaashi nods. “Naturally.” 

Nothing else need be said when Bokuto and meat are mentioned in the same sentence.

The three head out the gym, in a peaceful silence when Kuroo finally gathers up enough courage to inquire- “So, Akaashi.”

“Yes?” is the curt reply. 

“Geez! Loosen up- I just wanted to ask if you and Bokuto are gonna conf-“ At which point Akaashi’s hand comes flying up and slaps over Kuroo’s mouth. “Mmph!” 

Akaashi turns, eyes deadly. Kuroo backs away looking absolutely terrified. “I apologize, Akaashi-sama! Forgive my insolence, Akaashi-sama!” 

“Stop messing around, Kuroo.” Kenma mutters.

Akaashi abruptly turns and stalks away, leaving Kenma and Kuroo standing in startled silence. Well, Kuroo is; Kenma is neutral as ever. They pass the other gyms and are halfway there when Kuroo clears his throat. 

It’s too quiet for him- awkward in a way he and Kenma usually are never; the crickets are chirping in the heat of the night, and in this little bubble of the world there’s only him and Kenma.

“So,” begins Kuroo. 

Kenma glances up, eyes golden and piercing in the lamplight. Kuroo gulps. 

He really, really needs to talk about this- they’ve been skirting around it for far too long.

“Kenma, do you think they’ll ever- get together?” 

_Will we ever get together_ , is the unspoken meaning. 

_Will we be brave enough_?

“I don’t know, Kuroo.” Kenma’s voice is soft, and _by the gods_ does Kuroo love it. “Do you think they will?” 

_Do you think we’ll ever confess? Or will we never breach this border?_

__

__

_Because I want you_ , Kuroo thinks. 

“I-“ Kuroo’s voice catches a little, and _where is his usual snarky suaveness when he needs it_? 

They keep walking, slowing down as Kuroo tries to get his voice to work again.

He doesn’t get the chance because Kenma makes a disgruntled noise- then pulls down on Kuroo’s collar and plants his lips on Kuroo’s. 

For a whole second (eternity when time seems frozen and there’s no sound except their breathing) Kuroo can’t think. 

Then he melts into Kenma’s touch, savoring it because at last- at last!- Kenma is kissing him with a passion Kuroo would’ve never thought Kenma could have. 

He cups Kenma’s cheek and feels every sense in his body sharpen; the soft skin under calloused fingers, the chapped lips on his, and the slightly cool touch of Kenma’s hands on his neck.

It’s nice. _Really nice_ and _sweet_ and far better than the hurried string of one-night-stands Kuroo’s been part of, and Kuroo’s waited far too long for this.

“Ken-“ They both pull away gently at the same time, staring deep into each other’s eyes, bronze and gold. “Getting bold, you are.” 

Kenma makes a tiny scoffing sound, and god is it adorable. “ _You_ weren’t gonna do anything.” 

Kuroo blushes. “Well- I’m glad you did.” He glances away bashfully. Only Kenma can make him feel like the main character of a shoujo manga. “Are- are you? G-glad, I mean,” 

“Yeah,” whispers Kenma. “I’m glad.”

There’s a pregnant pause, during which the two exchange silent queries and confirmations of a brand only childhood friends can flaunt.

“So.”

“So.”

“Since when?” Kuroo asks. “Since when did you- like me?”

Kenma rolls his eyes, and grabs Kuroo’s elbows so they keep walking. “I can’t really remember, Kuroo. I guess I realized I did when you left middle school, and I had to be alone all the time.”

“Aww. How sad, kitten!” Kuroo teases, and Kenma goes bright red. 

“K-kitten?” Kenma sputters.

Kuroo bops Kenma’s nose, and says very seriously, “I knew I liked you the third day after I met you.”

“Back-back then?” Kenma’s eyes are wide. 

“Yeah, when you asked me to play Mario Kart with you when I was too shy to say I wanted to.” Kuroo recalls affectionately. 

He then realizes, with a dawning glee, “I gotta ask you officially!”

Kuroo gets down on one knee, trying and failing to ignore the (cute) squeak Kenma releases, and declares, “ _Kozume Kenma_ ,”

A dramatic pause. “Will you be my boyfriend?” 

“A-ah.” Kenma blushes, feeling foolish. “I will, Kuroo.”

“Great!” Kuroo pumps his fist up. “Come on, yakuniku time, kitten!” 

He drags Kenma behind him, both of them laughing in their own ways (hyena and quiet choking noises), floating in the bliss and relief of the aftermath.

It’s a good night, Akaashi reflects as he follows them after slipping out from his hiding spot. Even if his heart aches for the same affections from a certain owl-head.

——————-

Bokuto is drifting in heaven- everyone is, considering they’re sweaty teenage boys with unreasonable obsessions with meat. 

_Yakuniku_ , sings Bokuto’s brain. _Yakuniku, Akaashi, in my mouth!_

He freezes in the middle of swallowing another tender piece of meat. Konoha looks nervously at him. 

“Hey, Bokuto, you short-circuiting or something?” Konoha asks. 

Bokuto unfreezes. “Where’s ‘Kaashi?” he blurts, which causes Konoha to snicker. 

“So concerned for the mom of the team, huh, dad?” 

“I’m not your dad!” 

Komi leans in thoughtfully. “True, he’s more like the unmarried vodka aunt who goes backpacking in Western Europe.” 

“Akaashi’s definitely the mom, though,” Washio contributes. 

“H-hah?” Bokuto’s bewildered. “Who’s Akaashi married to, then?” 

Just then, Kuroo skips (yes, _skips_ ) inside with Kenma being dragged behind him. Akaashi follows them a moment later. 

“‘Kaashi!” Bokuto beams. “Who’re you married to?” 

The Fukurodani team collectively groans. 

“I’m sorry, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi seems to be pleased about something. “I’m not at the age for marriage yet.” 

Bokuto notices Kenma holding Kuroo’s hand at the next table and gapes. He darts over. “Bro-“

Kuroo glances up with bright eyes, wiping away a tear. “Indeed, bro.” 

“Finally!” Bokuto explodes into congratulations. 

Kenma slams his head onto the table, rattling the plates. Bokuto worries for his brain cells- at least one of the Kuroken pair need more than three of them in total.

Yaku and Yamamoto- the dude with the weird mohawk- shout, “I KNEW IT!” in unison, while Fukunaga sways blissfully to some meditative tune in his head.  
Kai Nobuyuki, who Bokuto just thinks of as ‘Bald Nice Guy’, shakes his head and sighs, albeit with a relieved smile.

Then- 

Bokuto has never been particularly observant- and yet, he still notices when two of Nekoma’s third years- one with brown fluffy hair and the other with short and black- glance at each other with expressions of clear disgust. 

It fills Bokuto with _rage_. 

Now, Bokuto Koutarou is a very blithe, oblivious, happy-go-lucky person. Many things can destroy his mood, but very few can make him angry. 

Homophobia is one of those few. 

Bokuto considers smashing the third years’ heads together, senpais or not. He glances sideways to see Akaashi’s piercing green eyes on him. 

Of course Akaashi noticed. 

Bokuto takes a deep breath, calming himself. He whispers to Kuroo, “Who’re those two?” and Kuroo wrinkles his nose. 

“Yamashida and Sato. I don’t like them much.” 

“Watch out for them, kay, bro?” Bokuto insists. He’s decided to take the mature route- and he tells himself it’s definitely not to impress Akaashi. 

Kuroo nods gravely, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye. “Bro, thanks for being my savior. Always.” There’s an underlying note of sincerity, and Bokuto grins. 

He turns back to Akaashi, not expecting (though enjoying) the proud-parent face Akaashi has on. 

“‘Kaashi- why do you look that time my mom made successful macaroons for the first time?”

————

When training camp ends, Kuroo and Bokuto part tearfully, Kuroo firmly gripping Kenma’s hand. 

Bokuto glares daggers at Sato and Yamashida, as if challenging them. They give him derisive looks, but don’t do anything. 

Akaashi shakes Kenma’s free hand, then Kuroo’s, and feels a subtle, bubbly happiness at the new friends he’s made. 

They return to the school, then everyone goes their separate ways for the rest of summer break. 

Akaashi waves a goodbye to Bokuto with the promise of visiting his house again, and enters his apartment with slight apprehension. 

Ever since the Art Incident, as Akaashi labels it (he never thinks about it; never opens the raw packet of anguish that is his emotions, because then he might actually feel something), his mother has been cordial to him. 

So he has no reason to worry. None at all. He tells himself that he’s fixed things with his mother- their relationship is weak, he knows, but it’s patched up with glue and bandages. 

It’s working, and he can’t deny that he’s looking forward to move out. Just a few more years. 

“Ah, Keiji!” his mother’s in the kitchen, typing on her ever-present computer. “How was camp?” 

“Good, Kaa-san,” Akaashi replies dutifully, taking his shoes off and heading to his room. 

“Keiji, your internship at the company starts in a week, okay?” 

He hums an assent, vague annoyance blooming at the pit of his stomach. 

It’s like being around his mother numbs him to his emotions. He supposes that it’s good- less of a bother. 

It still confuses him though- one moment he’s perfectly happy (at least, as much as one like him can be) and the next he’s emotionless, then he wants to carve lines into his skin with knives.

Akaashi sighs. He can’t even figure himself out- what’s the point, when he’s restraining himself from the thing he loves most?

He thinks about his paintings from before- before _It_ happened, before part of him died.  
He allows just a bit of that anguish to escape, just a bit to sort through.

They had been beautiful; he’s not boastful, not at all, but the pleasure of seeing the majestic swirls of brilliant color and shapes that were just right- yes, they were beautiful. 

Akaashi’d always painted with his head- never his heart. Never his emotions. All of them were careful, calculated and precise- and missing something that made them human. Extravagant, elegant, imaginative and splendid, yes. But never did they include that raw part of the soul that gave art its life.

It never satisfied him- he would stay up late into the night, sometimes wanting to scream in frustration at the incompleteness of his otherwise, frankly, stunning art. 

He wonders if he’ll find a muse; someone to save him and bring him back alive. Like a hero. And he wonders if it’ll be- 

_No, that’s not possible_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> right so I’m all for accepting opinions but if you’re homophobic pls get tf off this story bc judging someone for who they love is dumb. Period.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of Angst™ and I’m sorry not sorry Akaashi. You are my guinea pig. I do what I want.  
> Warning: Self harm, suicidal thoughts

Akaashi can’t help glancing at the paper and pencil on his desk. 

_No,_ he reminds himself. _Drawing is off limits_. 

He pushes the urge down; thankfully he can resist it because the other option- no, that’s too much hope. 

Akaashi continues to plod through his life- the spark of excitement at the sight of paper and whatever writing utensil is quickly tamped down; in class, he’s lost track of the times he bites the inside of his cheek to distract from the blank white corner of the worksheet. 

At the internship they compliment his resemblance to his mother and his obedience and his ingenuity and they don’t notice how each time they pass him a sheet of paper Akaashi tenses, fingers twitching and longing.

The days pass, and not once has Akaashi put onto paper the dreamscape of his mind. 

The days pass, and he and Bokuto grow closer.

Bokuto’s moms call him Keiji-chan, Bokuto’s siblings call him Kei-nii; the two of them improve in volleyball and synchronize almost perfectly on the court. 

The days pass, and right when Akaashi feels like exploding from not being able to break the tip of a single piece of lead over a sketch, his literature teacher assigns a short story; Akaashi lets out some of the tension- flowing into his made-up world, and the teacher compliments his writing profusely. 

It’s all a blur, if he’s honest. He remembers training camp and Bokuto and Kenma and Kuroo, but the rest- it passes in a flash of vague memories and the feeling that he hasn’t truly been there since last summer. 

He hasn’t had a disassociation attack in a while, but he sometimes feels like it’s now his permanent state. Like he’s living but not- a machine with just enough personality to be considered human.

Bokuto’s noticed, he knows. How Akaashi’s retreated even deeper into himself than before, keeping speech to a minimum and doing what needs to be done and nothing more. 

He thinks it’s because he can’t let anything out- he’s a cardboard box full of tiny holes, and it’s all he can do to keep everything from spilling out. 

It’s the beginning of Akaashi’s second year before he knows it, and there’s new additions to the team- Anahori, a nervous setter, and Onaga, a lanky middle blocker. It’s strange to be called a senpai for once. 

There’s more change, too- Bokuto’s made captain, and Akaashi vice captain, much to Akaashi’s surprise. 

The coach simply smiles and says, “You’re a good fit.” 

Bokuto’s pride is infectious for days afterwards. 

Akaashi still hasn’t dared drawn a single thing, yet. He doesn’t want to disturb the peaceful existence he and his mother have established (or maybe- he’s too afraid to). 

Of course, this “peace” doesn’t last. It never does. 

It’s been a bad day- he slept past his alarm, then had a math quiz on which he knows he did horribly (he procrastinated on studying); and now, his mother’s home drunk again.  
Akaashi’s already exhausted- his eyes are even heavier than usual, his hands are trembling just a bit with strain and cramps.

“Keiji,” slurs his mother. She pokes her head in the doorway. 

He’s splayed out on his bed, trying to complete the math problems but the numbers are completely mixed up in his head. “Mother.”

“What’s- this?” she stalks in, swaying a little. She grabs the math test he’d stuffed in his bag (he hadn’t bothered to look at it when the teacher had handed it back). “A sixty percent? Keiji- you-“ 

“I-I’m sorry, mother.” 

Akaashi’s hands are so, so cold. They’re not moving. 

He thinks they’re dead. The thought horrifies him. Because he- _he needs his hands, doesn’t he_?

How will he draw? How- they can’t be _dead_ , can they? It’s not a rationally fear, but he’s past that at this point. His head moves down and his eyes focus on them; spidery, pale, lifeless with blue veins prominent- _Bokuto-san will be so disappointed._

His tosses are all that matter to Bokuto, he thinks. 

“ _Keiji_!” Without warning, his mother grabs his shoulders. “Are you listening? You can’t get into a good profession if you fail math!” 

_No one could love you_ goes unspoken.

He hears, but it doesn’t register as he watches his mother, increasingly agitated, shake his cold, dead body; scream in his blank, dead face, spittle flying. 

_No one loves you_ , she says.

Akaashi Keiji is not alive; how can he, when he goes about life as an emotionless robot? 

He’s done trying to figure himself out, because one moment he wants to kiss Bokuto and holler with joy; paint his mind with color; the next he is _gone_. 

Bokuto doesn’t love him. Bokuto sees him as the Setter with Tired Eyes, the Perpetually Bored Nuisance. 

Akaashi knows everything that’s wrong with him. He knows with startling clarity, he knows that he is useless and broken and nothing will ever be okay.

His mother leaves him staring blankly at the ceiling, and sleep takes over.

————-

In the morning he doesn’t panic when he wakes and sees 10 A.M. on his clock. There’s no point- school seems trivial when his life is an endless gray field. 

His body controls itself; brushing its teeth, washing its face and pulling its uniform on. Akaashi doesn’t know where his mind is at the moment. 

Akaashi’s not dumb; not at all. He knows that maybe his mother shouldn’t talk to him the way she does; he’s been to Bokuto’s house enough times to know that. 

But he also knows- she’s not abusive. She can’t be, because she’s never hurt him. 

And she can’t be because she’s _right._

It’s his own fault he hurts half the time. It’s his own fault the other half he’s numb. 

_He thinks he wants to die_.

He doesn’t smile anymore- not even the smallest twitch. His classmates glance up when he comes in late; Akaashi Keiji is usually right on time, if not early. 

But they don’t care. Akaashi Keiji’s problems are his own problems.

Bokuto and Konoha look at him worriedly, the coach tells him not to overwork himself (he does, anyway. He might as well try to be useful to the team.)

He tries harder in math, and brings the grade up to a B; his mother smiles gently, praising him, and for a second Akaashi thinks maybe he’ll be okay. 

That’s hilarious. 

He’s not okay. 

Because-

At first, it’s the fingernails. They dig into skin, never sharp enough to draw blood.  
It annoys him. When he files them in the guise of preparation for setting, he rubs them into points. 

It helps, but it becomes an addiction- he can’t stop, _won’t_ stop, because pain distracts from pain. 

He takes the corner of his ruler, next. It hurts- still doesn’t bleed- but it’s better than the throbbing in his chest.  
He’d do anything to make that go away. 

Then, there’s Bokuto. Bokuto, who barges in and rearranges Akaashi’s life so that, for a few lasting hours, Akaashi is aware of himself.

“AGHAAAASHIE!!!” Bokuto yells, grin bright as the sun, bounding over to where Akaashi is eating lunch by himself. 

“Bokuto-san,” acknowledges Akaashi. Eyes dull, face slack. He knows how he looks- bad, but not as bad as when Bokuto’s not with him. Selfish, he knows.

“‘Kaaaashi.” Bokuto’s golden eyes strike deep within Akaashi’s soul. If he still has one. “Are you okay, Akaashi?” 

Akaashi keeps everything neutral. “Very okay, Bokuto-san.” 

Bokuto definitely doesn’t buy it- Akaashi doesn’t blame him. 

“Say,” Bokuto begins hesitantly. “You haven’t drawn anything for me yet.” 

Akaashi tenses. 

“You said- you said you liked drawing, a while ago,” Bokuto continues. “And... and you kinda got that sparkly look in your eyes, ya know?”  
He seems to be trying to coax Akaashi out of his shell, and Akaashi- Akaashi can’t stand it.

Akaashi can’t have Bokuto believing in him- in this broken husk that is Akaashi Keiji, that walks and talks and doesn’t _live_. It would be too cruel. 

His heart is pounding and it’s aching with sorrow, but he knows what he needs to do.

Bokuto’s voice breaks him out of his daze.“So maybe if you drew something you’d feel bet-“

“ _Don’t_.” hisses Akaashi, with more venom than he’s ever used with Bokuto. He knows this is wrong, _knows_ , but he can’t stop. 

He can’t be that selfish, to keep Bokuto close and then leave in a flash of shattered glass. Better to do it now, of his own accord.

He imbues the rage and hurt and wild-animal deep inside him and directs it at Bokuto. “ _Don’t pretend to know me._ ” 

“‘Kaashi! I wasn’t trying-“ 

“I don’t need your _pity_.” Akaashi knows how sharp he can be, how much damage he can do. 

His chest aches again. He thinks of those days- brilliant sunsets with a golden hero boy by his side, the days he could still express his unending dance with the world with sprays of molten colors.

Those days-

It’s gone now. He knows what his future will hold if he continues- it’s decades of typing on a computer, coming home drunk at night just like his mother- and he can’t- he _can’t_ be like his mother. 

So he won’t. 

He’ll be dead; he refuses to live like his mother does. He needs Bokuto gone, because with Bokuto here- Akaashi actually wants to live. 

“You don’t know me,” Akaashi repeats. “You’ve never- _you never knew me._ ” 

To Akaashi’s fury, Bokuto isn’t leaving; he’s not shrinking away or gazing at Akaashi with hurt, no.  
Bokuto is very clearly worried about him; eyes golden and wide and almost pitying, and Akaashi _hates it_ with every fiber of his being. 

“No, ‘Kaashi.” Bokuto interrupts, gripping Akaashi’s wrists. “I do know you- not everything, but I _do_ know you! And you like drawing, and onigiri, and you get that wrinkle between your eyebrows when you try not to laugh-“

“Stop!” Akaashi feels like Bokuto’s peeling away his defenses, leaving nothing to stop his emotions from flooding out. “ _Stop, Bokuto_!”

“Ah. Ka. Shi.” enunciates Bokuto, fierce eyes and smoldering words. _A true hero_. 

Bokuto’s pushing him too hard- Akaashi feels his eyes start burning. He’s so broken. He’s disgusting and broken and _he doesn’t want Bokuto to see him like this._

“You’re witty and smart and so creative, and Akaashi-“ Bokuto’s crying now, the two of them caught in a hot mess of teenage emotions. “ _Akaashi- Keiji_.” 

That does it. He hears his mother again, louder; insistent on breaking his mind. 

_Keiji, Keiji, Keiji._

He’s dreaded the name, every single night he returns home, every single blade she’s helped him thrust into his own heart.

Akaashi loses control. He breaks down, and he floats away.

Akaashi is a statue, a dead thing; he is alive, a bright spirit encaged in iron. 

He sees Bokuto’s panicked face- hears the calls of his name from leagues underwater, feels the tremors of his body without a soul. 

Akaashi’s head snaps up. 

“Bokuto-san.” his own voice terrifies him. It’s raspy and gone, the last tiny breath of air escaping a doomed body.

The broken strings of a cracked violin, rubbing on a dusty floor from ages past.

Bokuto flinches at the sound. 

Akaashi ignores the twinge in his heart as he bites out, “I- am- _not_ \- your- friend.” 

He’s useless- all he’s good for is bringing the heroes down. So he accepts it. 

“You-“ Akaashi hisses- snarls, more emotion than he’s ever put into words; a sickening blend of fear and fury and disgust all at himself- “are _useless_. I am _not_ \- who you think I am.” 

Bokuto’s wide eyes are wider than ever, his hair somehow drooping. “‘Kaash-“ 

“ _Nobody needs you_.” Akaashi knows he sounds ravaged now, throat raw and eyes burning with tears. 

_Nobody needs me._

__

__

_I’m sorry, Bokuto. You’d be better off without me._

He stalks away from Bokuto, hands shaking and heart fractured into thousands of tiny shards (although he’s never understood why they say the heart is where love comes from).

Akaashi barely gets home before he falls prey to temptation.

When he kneels in his bathroom with the razor clenched in hand, he wonders- How did this happen?

He thinks about what he said to Bokuto- someone he’d sworn never to hurt. 

_Look at us now_ , he thinks wryly. 

Akaashi’s just like his mother, isn’t he? That’s the horror of it- his mother. They’re related by both blood and soul, aren’t they. 

He makes the first cut on the inside of his right thigh- and it’s _liberating_ ; the red liquid collects, smears, drops. 

He wants all of it gone- this earthly connection to the woman who gave birth to him; cared for him and never lays a hand on him yet makes him feel smaller-

smaller than the smallest of mice. 

Second, third and fourth- and _oh, it hurts_ but it hurts with the sharp sting that’s far, _far_ better than the dull throbbing in his chest. 

Akaashi lets it out-

an ugly, wrenching sob. 

Because here he is, spilling his own life force out, and all he can think of is _Bokuto_. 

_Look what you’ve done to me_ , Akaashi grits his teeth bitterly.

Tears that he hadn’t released come dropping down thick and hot like raindrops- splashing onto the cuts and stinging like hell but Akaashi doesn’t heed them; he hurts inside. 

He _hurts_. 

He’s not numb anymore. 

This is far worse.

He wants wants wants Bokuto but he knows he can’t- can’t burden Bokuto like that with this incompetence and weaknesses and all this shit. 

Akaashi thinks of all the times he’s ever felt hopeful- leaving the gym with Bokuto, laughing with Kenma, watching Kenma and Kuroo get together like blushing schoolgirls- and

Those moments have never felt so far away than now, 

_Now_ ,

as he clenches his eyes shut and more salty liquid squeezes out and the blood is splattered around his legs, and he feels so utterly _destroyed_. 

Over and over he plays in his head the words he spoke to Bokuto- trying to accept the damage he’d done.

“Bokuto-san,” whispers Akaashi, to the empty shadows and specks of dust in the lonely little room, the cold marble tiles beneath him taking no heed to his forlorn words. “I- I’m so _sorry_.” 

Bokuto’s devastated eyes haunt his vision; his mouth is open in a surprised ‘o’ and Akaashi digs his fingernails into his fists. 

No, no no _no_. 

Bokuto should be happy, happy that Akaashi is gone from his life.  
That his parasite of a body, his blade of a mind is unable to hurt that shining golden hero any more.

“Keiji?” comes a sharp rap on the bathroom door. 

Sharp panic courses through Akaashi. It’s his mother, and she _can’t see him like this._

“Wait- wait,” Akaashi gasps. “I’m- please don’t come in yet.” 

“Oh- it’s fine, I should go.” his mother sounds distinctly uncomfortable, but better she think he was- _fingering_ himself than this.

He grabs the nearest towel and wipes up all the blood, adrenaline spiking when the stains don’t come off for a second. The razor he stuffs in the cabinet, and he flushed the toilet for good measure.

Akaashi knows his face is going to be blotchy, but there’s nothing he can do besides splash cold water onto it. 

When he exits the bathroom, his mother is standing outside in the hallway, eyes averted. They dart up, green like his, and she clears her throat. “Are- you alright?” 

She made the effort, at least. They _really_ don’t know how to interact normally. 

“Yes, mother, I’m fine. Just allergies.” He curses himself when he says this, because her eyebrows raise.

“You have allergies?” 

“No.”

“Ah.” She leaves it at that. “Anyway, Keiji- I just needed to tell you to be more careful when you’re outside. There were some horrible things on the news today, I’ll elaborate at dinner.”

There she goes again, scheduling things with him like he’s a business partner.

“Yes, mother,” says Akaashi, and returns to his room like he wasn’t sobbing his heart out a minute ago.

He slumps onto bed, cursing himself for not being more careful, for letting his emotions take control of him again.

He pushes down memories of Bokuto. 

He can do that much for the boy who stole his heart, at least.

For now, though- Akaashi will have to endure.   
Endure through the rest of his life until- at last- he can rest.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emotional drama, because I literally cannot not do it. Also things get slightly better and they have a talk, so that’s great. Maybe.

Depending on who you are and your perspective on the ever-changing world, you might think Akaashi’s life gets better, that it’s already hit rock bottom; or, you might think (and you would be right) that it gets worse. 

_Truly depressing, isn’t it?_ thinks Akaashi as he trudges back home; monotonous cycle of endless numbness, broken intermittently by stabs of soul-deep pain.

Bokuto isn’t talking to him- and for good reason; Akaashi doesn’t blame him a bit.  
That doesn’t mean he feels _good_ about it.

The rest of the third-years on the volleyball team still approach him, but they’re stiff and standoffish and they do not act like they know him.  
Again Akaashi doesn’t blame them. He doesn’t know if Bokuto told them of his actions, nor does he want to. 

He plunges himself into his classes with a wild fervor, doing anything possible to distract from the gaping hole inside.  
It’s only the beginning of the school year, and he’s truly gotten off to a wonderful start.

Akaashi’s mother hasn’t mentioned his breakdown; he thinks with both relief and that tiny trickle of disappointment that she’d been too drunk to care and remember.

There’s another thing- that talk they’d had (scheduled) for dinner, scraping away at plates of Chinese takeout under unnecessarily expensive hanging lights, making the occasional hum to ward off overpowering silence. 

His mother had set her fork down with a small clank. “Say, Keiji, about what I wanted to discuss earlier.”

Akaashi had nodded, a gesture for her to continue. 

She’d leaned forward, eyes suddenly fierce and piercing. “As I said before, you may not have seen the news channel- but a _man_ who claimed to be a _woman_ entered the women’s bathroom,” his mother had paused, collecting her thoughts and seemingly oblivious to Akaashi’s dawning realization, “the public bathroom, mind you. He- well, raped her, you see.” 

“Ah,” Akaashi had said lamely.

“So.” she glanced at him sharply. “I needed to tell you this because, one: you need to be more careful outside. I know you’re a boy but any parent would be concerned about something terrible like that.”

Her lectures were always well-planned, organized into points much like how Akaashi thought she conducted business.

“That’s understandable, mother,” Akaashi had replied, keeping his face neutral.

“Two:” she’d continued, voice tightening in the telltale fashion before she was about to deliver a blunt statement that often left receivers in tears, “I won’t sugarcoat this. I need to ask your sexual orientation; you’re of age, anyway.”

_Subtle_ , Akaashi had thought, stunned disappointment welling in his stomach. It wasn’t like he’d never thought about coming out to his mom, expecting it to go better than any other interaction.

But now...

She wasn’t supposed to _care_.  
But she did, so Akaashi had lied again.

“To be honest, mother,” Akaashi had begun. “I’ve yet to have any interest in dating. I’ve thought about it, but only with females.”  
He added, “You don’t need to worry,” with apprehension, observing her face with shrewd eyes. 

And his mother had visibly relaxed with a sigh of relief, letting out a, “Thank god, I’m glad you’re not...” 

Akaashi had continued chewing his rice; the motion was mechanical and far too normal for the drowning sensation in his gut. 

He reflects on it now, barely paying attention to his teacher’s droning as he sits in his last class of the day- the afternoon light is streaming through the windows and students are eyeing the outdoors but he has no time to notice this.  
He should’ve expected this, he knows now. Akaashi’s mother is not a kind woman, nor does she pretend to be.

Perhaps that’s why he’s so captivated by Bokuto, whose inherent goodness and unbound joy are so different from what he’d known growing up.

_Bokuto-san._  
Akaashi clenches his teeth, tenses his legs, doing anything to keep from thinking about the heroic boy he loved.  
No, not loved- _loves._

No point lying to himself, because Akaashi’s always been good at picking apart his emotions and sorting them into tiny boxes. This- this does not fit any box, for it is wild and carefree and Akaashi wants so much to latch onto it and never, ever let go.

He wants to change the life he has made for himself- the life his mother has made. He _needs _to, needs to become someone worth _being_. Then, perhaps he might deserve someone like Bokuto. __

____

He’s always imagined this- all of this- as a wall. A towering wall of solid bedrock and shadows and stone-faced cruelty, and Akaashi can’t get past it.  
But now- what changed?  
Why, as he gazes up at this familiar obstacle, does he suddenly see that tiny square of light shining through? 

____

Perhaps it’s the tiniest shift in his perception of the world; the minuscule change of the great cycle that is life.

____

Or perhaps, it’s simply Bokuto Koutarou, the boy who he loves. The boy who- somehow- makes him want to laugh and cry and be alive.

____

Akaashi inhales, a breath that seeps into his lungs and sweeps away the dregs of smoke and dusty hate. He exhales, and as his teacher dismisses class and the students begin to pack up, he resolves himself. 

____

———-

____

“Bokuto-san,” is what he first hears, entering the locker room before anyone else.

____

Well, not everyone else. 

____

Akaashi’s there, eyes cast downward, stance tense. 

____

“‘Kaashi?” Bokuto croaks out, feeling the worry of the past few weeks rush in. He’d been avoiding Akaashi since their argument, and now berates himself for not talking to him sooner.

____

“Could I- speak with you, outside? For just a moment.”

____

Bokuto just nods, a bit dumbfounded and slightly terrified. 

____

They stop behind the gym, away from prying eyes. Bokuto thinks dazedly- stupidly- that it’s rather like a confession.

____

Akaashi takes a deep breath and meets his eyes for the first time in weeks. They stun Bokuto every time in their beauty; green-blue-gray like the swirling depths of the ever-changing oceans.

____

There’s something else in them, too; something new that halts Bokuto’s breath and sends tingles down his spine. It’s a brightness- but not the brightness before tears- like a shine that sparks with energy that Akaashi somehow possesses. 

____

Akaashi takes a deep breath. “First of all, Bokuto-san. I’d like to say I am so- _so sorry_ for what I said to you. It was incredibly rude and inconsiderate of me, and I hurt your feelings when that was something I’d never wanted to do.”

__As he says so the memories rush in-_ _

Bokuto remembers the broken gasps of _useless_ and _you don’t know me_ and _you are not my friend_ , and he smiles.  
He smiles because he always knew Akaashi didn’t mean any of it; knew that Akaashi was hurting inside and hated himself, and now he is better.  
Contrary to popular opinion, Bokuto is not stupid. He understands far more about people and their inner workings than one’d expect, his sharp eyes and quick mind picking out what others can’t see. 

____

So Bokuto smiles, and reaches out to hug Akaashi, cutting him off from where he’s saying, “I don’t expect you to forgive-“ 

____

After a moment of shocked silence, Akaashi lets out a quiet sob and grasps Bokuto tightly, clinging on as if he’s a lifeline. 

____

Akaashi is warm, and Bokuto buries his head into the bony shoulder with an exhale of relieved contentment.

____

“‘Kaashi,” says Bokuto, voice muffled, “I know you didn’t mean any of it. I know you were feeling- well, really really bad, and I hope you’re better now.” 

____

He pulls away, just a bit, and looks Akaashi in his red-rimmed eyes. “If you’re not, _that’s okay too_ , you hear me? That’s okay, ‘cuz I wanna help you! And I know you’re strong, too!” 

____

Akaashi’s eyes flick up toward Bokuto’s in surprise. There’s relief, too.  
Then Akaashi says, “Thank you, Bokuto-san. For- everything.”

____

_Everything_.

____

Memories spiral past Bokuto- the golden days of sunsets and exhilarating sweat; the laughing family crowded around a dinner table; lunches spent inside together while rain pounded outside.

____

“Yeah,” answers Bokuto softly. “yeah.”

____

They stay like that for a few minutes, arms wrapped around each other, and it’s not romantic, or platonic, or whatever category to be put in. 

____

It’s them- just them- in a soft little bubble of light breezes, fading light and the faint sounds of volleyballs behind them. It’s quite nice. 

____

Then Bokuto says hesitantly, “Akaashi, you can talk to me about anything, ya know? I won’t judge you!”

____

He peers down at Akaashi, who tenses a bit. 

____

“I know,” Akaashi agrees. 

____

“Not all at once!” Bokuto backtracks, suddenly nervous. “Just so- it’ll make us both feel better, I think.”

____

“You’re right.” Akaashi lifts his head, looking up at the sky and its orange-blue-blackness. “I guess... I just don’t know how to start,” He pauses. “how to explain... myself.”

____

“You don’t need to!” Bokuto shakes his head wildly. “Go at your own pace. Say whatever you want, really!” 

____

“Okay,” says Akaashi. He doesn’t speak for a long time, and Bokuto waits patiently. 

__During that wait the birds gather in a great flock and cross the skies; the winds pick up and whistle past in a howl; the leaves wave gently and life is beautiful._ _

Then: “I always did have a strange relationship with my mother.”

____

_Ah_ , thinks Bokuto. He sees the tightening of Akaashi’s mouth, feels the tensed arms around him.  
Akaashi never did mention his family much; Bokuto knew his father was out of the picture but not why, and that his mother was strict. 

____

Bokuto tightens his hold around the other boy, feeling oddly protective.  
_Go on_ , he urges.

____

The dark-haired boy closes his eyes, buries his face in Bokuto’s chest. 

____

“She never really...touched me, I suppose.” Akaashi’s voice is muffled as he speaks, “Like this. Hugging.”

____

“Ah,” says Bokuto.

____

“And I didn’t get... a choice in many things.” Akaashi takes a breath. “my career, my classes, my- life.” 

____

There’s a rush of sadness, because Akaashi’s Akaashi and he doesn’t deserve to feel this way. Bokuto wants so badly to take the pain away, but for now he listens. Akaashi does so for him, so it’s the least he can do to return the favor.

____

“You know I like art, right?” his voice grows quieter, syllables strained and dry. “and- my mother doesn’t approve.”

____

Bokuto nods, anxiety bubbling up. “What happened?”

____

In mutual consent they sit, legs bumping against each other on the dirt. 

____

Akaashi sighs, leaning his head against Bokuto’s, and he looks so, so tired. 

____

“She tore up my drawings,” he says. It’s final- a cold, hard fact detached from the world. “It’s fine, though.”

____

Bokuto gapes, because Akaashi’s face doesn’t change. It stays the unmoving mask, never belying the hurt that lies under.  
Because he can’t imagine either of his mothers ever doing something like that.

____

“Kaashi... I’m so sorry,” whispers Bokuto, and he truly is. He presses his forehead against Akaashi’s, gold eyes meeting green. “That was _atrocious_ of her.”

____

He pauses. “Did I use atrocious right?”

____

A smile ghosts over Akaashi’s lips. “Yes, you did. It was atrocious of her, I realize that now.”

____

“Good.”

____

Bokuto leans back, eyes facing the vast, rapidly-darkening sky. 

____

It’s beautiful tonight, he reflects. He wants to know more- know more about Akaashi and his life and his troubles, but he won’t push.

____

Bokuto is good at that kind of thing when he wants to be. 

____

He asks, soft in the crisp air, if Akaashi’ll be okay. If going home is safe.

____

And it hurts to have to ask this. 

____

But Akaashi’s eyes are steely as he says, “Yes. She doesn’t hit me, so I’ll be fine. Don’t worry, Bokuto-san.”

____

“I trust you,” replies Bokuto, never taking his eyes off Akaashi’s. “You don’t sugarcoat things. I like that- did I use sugarcoat right?” 

____

A hint of pink appears on Akaashi’s cheeks, and he ducks his head. “Yes, you used it right.”

____

Then: “You don’t sugarcoat either, Bokuto-san. I- I like that about you as well.” 

____

They smile at each other, faces tinted orange and gray on separate sides as the sun sets. 

____

Bokuto doesn’t hug Akaashi as they part ways for their respective homes, though he desperately wants to; he simply nods, and with it comes the silent plea for Akaashi to hold on.

____

_Hold on, because I’m coming for you.  
And I’m here_.

____

_If you need me._

____

**Author's Note:**

> I’ll try to update every few days or so- it’s my first time on this website so I hope this story is enjoyable lol


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